


The Lady's Sword

by LapOtter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Clothing Disparity, Consensual Kink, Dom!Molly, F/M, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Serial Orgasms, Vaginal Sex, improvised restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapOtter/pseuds/LapOtter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Molly's imagination, the touch of the lady's sword to the knight's shoulders felt the same as the touch of her own fingertips against Greg's mouth, and his kiss to her fingers felt the same as the knight's promise to his lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_xmasmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MONSTER! So sorry again that this was late! And so sorry also that it's not finished; the second chapter will be posted soon!

Greg's hands were big and warm; braced at Molly's waist, they spanned the entire space between her ribs and her hip bones, and a little more besides. She shifted, spreading her legs wider across his thighs to feel the rasp of his trousers against her skin, and sighed into his mouth.

His hands slid down, bracing her hips, fingers just curling around her arse. She broke away, giggling, pressing her forehead into his shoulder for support.

"What?" he asked, wounded. "What'd I do?"

"Oh, no, no, nothing! I'm sorry, it's just." She had to stop for another bout of giggling. "I meant to actually make you coffee, and instead we're." She waved a hand.

His hands slid back up to her waist, his touch lighter. "Would you rather have coffee?"

"No!" She pulled away from his neck to press a brief, hard kiss to his mouth. "No, I want... like this. This is, um. Good."

He pulled her hips down, flush against him, surging up to take her mouth again. Her clit ground against the hard ridge of his erection and she moaned, suddenly aware that with her skirt spread around them, her knickers were the only layer of fabric between his trousers and herself.

"Greg," she gasped. "Greg, I, I think. I'm going to ruin your trousers."

"God, yes," he growled, and shifted against her, sucking at her neck below her ear. Her first orgasm rolled through her with an embarrassingly loud moan, soaking her knickers and making her head drop back.

He started to pull away, and she clutched at his hands, pulling them to her chest. "Please don't stop, please, I can, I want..." She ground down against him, mouth seeking his; he squeezed her breasts gently, thumb just brushing over the nipple, and her second orgasm hit her, her clit swelling against the slickness of her knickers, against the firmness of his cock.

Greg groaned into her mouth, barely audible over the noises she was making, and the third orgasm rolled in right over the end of the second, and then she stopped counting. With Greg's hands on her breasts stomach back hips breasts, with his mouth on her mouth jaw neck shoulders, with his lovely hard cock sliding perfectly over her, the orgasms swept through her, one rolling gently into the next.

His hands were on her skin now, her bare nipples tight in the cool of her flat, and she didn't have time to wonder when that had happened because his mouth was on one nipple, his left had on the other, and his hand sliding under her skirt and around her leg, fingers sneaking under her knickers and inside her.

The angle was awkward, making any kind of depth impossible, but even that small stretch of the opening made her clench tight and push back against his hand. Her next orgasm was deeper, tighter, _more_ ; it had barely begun to drop off before the next was on her, pushing her even higher.

"God, Molls," Greg mumbled into her throat. "God, look at you." His voice, and his fingers, and the swell of his flesh between her legs; she fell trembling into another orgasm, this one sharper, hotter, redder. She whimpered, slowed the rocking of her hips; his hands and mouth gentled themselves to match. One more, almost painful, and then finally she rode out the aftershocks and slumped trembling against his chest.

He stroked one hand, the dry one, up and down her back; the wet one rested on her thigh under her skirt. "That was amazing," he breathed; the words stirred strands of her hair over her neck, and she shivered. "How many?"

"Don' know," Molly murmured. "Lost count. Always do, though."

Greg let out a soft pained noise; his cock twitched against her. "It's always like that for you?"

Molly drew back to look at him. "Most of the time. Is that... unusual?"

"I have no idea, but it's bloody sexy." She felt his head turn, and he sighed heavily. "I have to go, I have to get back to work."

"Already?" Molly pouted, but planted her hands on his thighs to help push herself off him. Her legs were shaky, but they held her.

"Yes, unfortunately." Greg smoothed her skirt down and grinned. "Button that blouse and no one will even be able to tell we just shagged on the sofa."

Molly wrinkled her nose, pushing her bra back down over her breasts. "They'd smell it. God, I must reek of sex." She glanced down and felt her cheeks heat. "Oh, no, look at your trousers, they're soaked, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, I have a spare pair, it'll be fine." He got up, wiped his fingers on his hip, and bent down to kiss her. "I... listen, I've got a late night tonight, but If it's all right with you I'd like to see you. Can I come here when my shift ends?"

"Ah..." Molly hesitated, then decided there was no sense in being coy with the man she'd just, mostly accidentally, shagged on her sofa. "Yes, of course."

He beamed. "Great! Thank you. And thank you for this. This was brilliant."

"You didn't even come," Molly blurted.

"No," Greg agreed. He reached into his pants to adjust himself. "It's fine, don't worry about it. You don't owe me an orgasm. That goes for tonight, too, you know--you're allowed to be sleepy or not in the mood, you can tell me to shove off home, it's fine."

Molly leaned up and kissed him, deep and filthy. He groaned into her mouth, hands clutching at her still-unbuttoned blouse. She put a finger on his erection, in the center of the wet spot she'd left, and felt it twitch against her.

"Save this for me," she whispered against his mouth. "I'm going to want it later."

He let out a soft noise and a quiet "yes," and she thrilled at the jolt of power that coursed through her. She kissed him again, a reward, and then stepped away, grinning. "Go on, then. Don't be late for work. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "Yeah, I'll see you, Molly. Tonight."

 

Molly had the day off, and as it was still early afternoon, she decided to make the most of it, to distract herself. She had a shower and did her shopping, and bought a new toy for Toby just because she was feeling pleased.

She thought about calling Amanda, to go out for a movie and maybe afternoon drinks, but all she could think about was Greg and she wasn't ready to explain him yet. God, had they really shagged for the first time on her sofa at his lunch break?

So instead she tidied the sitting room, and then the kitchen, and then made dinner for two and put half in the fridge. Then Toby was scratching at the end of the sofa asking for a cuddle, so she curled up with him and a book.

By ten she was yawning, blinking at the pages to make them come into focus, but Toby was still curled in her lap and she was loathe to disturb him. She laid her head on the arm of the sofa and closed her eyes, just to doze until Toby got up on his own.

The doorbell woke her, and she startled, scaring Toby into his cubbyhole, where he crouched and nervously scanned the room. "It's okay, sweetie," she said absentmindedly as she pushed the intercom.

"Not my first choice of pet names, but it'll do," Greg said, voice crackling through the low-quality speakers. "Can I come up?"

"Talking to Toby. Of course you can," Molly said, and pushed the button to buzz him through. It would take him a minute to get up, so she plated the other half of the dinner she'd made and stuck it in the microwave to heat.

The quiet knock on her door came just as she was pressing the Start button. She peeked through the peephole just to be sure, then unhooked the chain, opened the deadbolt, unlocked the door, and let Greg in.

"You've got a lot of security on that door," he said as he came in. "I approve."

"Of course I do, I work with Sherlock Holmes," Molly said, doing the locks back up. "You look exhausted. Are you hungry?"

"You don't need to feed me," he objected.

"That wasn't the question. The food's already made; if you're not hungry it can go in the fridge, but if you are it'd be pointless to leave it out."

"Well, all right, yes, I'm starving. But you didn't have to cook for me."

Molly showed him into the kitchen, pointing him at the microwave and filling a glass with water. "I didn't cook for you. I cooked for me. There was extra."

"Thank you." Greg dug in, making appreciative noises. "I notice you're still in your clothes."

"Yes, I fell asleep on the sofa. Toby was on me; you scared him with the bell." Molly hesitated, then smirked at him. "I don't have to be, though."

Greg blinked. "What?"

Molly didn't answer. She simply held Greg's gaze and began unbuttoning her blouse. She didn't try for any sexy striptease moves, but it didn't seem to matter; Greg's attention was riveted on her. She slid the cotton off over her shoulders, pushed her skirt down to puddle around her ankles, reached behind herself to unhook her bra.

"Don't forget to eat," she said, and sighed in relief as the bra fell to the floor.

"I'm not sure I'm hungry anymore," Greg said, his voice more breath than word.

Molly grinned at him, then bent to take her knickers off. She was already wet enough that they stuck to her for an extra half-second before letting go with a soft sound. "Finish eating," she said, sitting down across from him. "Then you can have dessert in the bedroom."

"Molly," Greg protested in a whisper.

Molly's grin broadened. She liked seeing him want her, and she liked the feeling of control over when and how he had her. "Dinner first," she said firmly. "Then dessert."

He obediently resumed eating, much more quickly than before. She slid a hand down her body, mapping her own curves, feeling under her fingertips the textures of smooth skin and stretch marks. Her thighs were growing slick already; she pressed her fingers between her labia, on either side of her clit.

Greg's eyes widened. He couldn't see exactly what she was doing; the table was in the way. But he could extrapolate where she'd put her hand, and she liked the way his pupils dilated, liked the way he forgot to eat and then remembered again.

She played, teasing herself, teasing him. She kept her reactions suppressed, but after she let her breath hitch and heard his hitch in echo, she let herself make a little more noise. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, sighing, ready to come

"M-Molly..."

With effort, Molly raised her head to look at Greg. "Hmm?"

"I'm, uh." He gestured at his empty plate. "Finished. Can I--May I please lick you?"

Molly grinned, lifting her hand towards his mouth. A few inches away she hesitated and said, "Um, this is--I mean, I'm clean."

"I licked you off my trousers once I got back to the office," Greg said, his voice hoarse. "Not the safest thing, but I'm willing to take the risk. Please, Molly."

She nodded, put her fingers to his lips; he groaned and sucked them in deep, tongue wriggling over and under and between them, chasing every trace of her flavor. On a whim, she stood up, curling her fingers and tugging to show she wanted him to follow her without taking his mouth off her hand.

Walking carefully backwards, she led him into her bedroom, spreading herself out over her duvet, drawing him down with her. She pulled his mouth to hers, slid her fingers out of her mouth only to slide her tongue in a moment later.

She could still taste herself, just a little; it tasted sour and not at all pleasant. She ignored it; no worse than semen, after all.

"Molly," he gasped, breaking away--but not, she noticed, very far. "Can I please, can I _please_ lick you?"

He was by far the most polite man she'd ever been to bed with, and she loved it. "Yes. Come on, do it."

He wriggled himself down the length of her so quickly she almost wondered where he'd gone. He buried his face in the junction between her thigh and her cunt and lapped at her, gathering up her copious moisture.

It didn't feel like much, after the practiced touch of her own hand. She sighed into it, though, because she was patient and she knew it would start to feel like more given time. He sucked her labia gently, and she pushed herself up against his mouth; that was new, that was different, that was good.

His tongue flickered around her clit, just glancing off it through her foreskin. "Yesss," she hissed, "yes, there, like that." She twined her fingers into his short hair, scraped her nails over his scalp. He groaned, and his fingers pressed into her thighs, but his lips and tongue kept the same steady pressure.

"Fingers," she said, and the resulting stretch as two of his broad blunt fingers pushed into her felt, she'd swear, better than it should have. "Oh," she gasped, "oh, yes, _crook_ \--yes yes yes _good, **good**_ \--"

"-- _ **stop**_ ," she panted, pushing his face away. God, it had been a long time since she'd had one of those, one that she actually had to stop and recover from. Greg pulled back, sitting up so that he was poised on hands and knees over her, grinning and licking his lips and watching her eagerly. Like a well-trained puppy, proud and looking for a pat on the head.

The image was a little more appealing than Molly thought it ought to be. She smiled at him, stroked her thumb over his slick cheek.

He tilted his head into her hand. "S'good?"

"Yes. Fantastic. Come down here." She pulled him down for a kiss, only belatedly remembering how her slickness would be smeared over her face. Too late now, though, so she may as well enjoy the kiss.

Already there was heat building between her legs, insistent and empty. She pressed herself against him, molding her body to his, savoring the roughness of his uniform against her skin, the press of his cock through his clothes.

"You like it when I tell you what to do," she said, tucking her fingers beneath his waistband.

His face went red. "It's not that," he insisted; "it's, I just--"

"Shh." She kissed him, half to keep him quiet and half to reassure him. "It's okay. I like it, too. I like that you like it." She pushed him onto his back and unbuttoned his trousers, pushed them halfway down his thighs, and after a moment's thought decided to leave them there; if he wanted her to move them, he'd say so. She'd make sure.

"What else do you like?" she asked as she spread his shirt open. "Would you like it if I tied you down?"

"I, uh," Greg said, eyes closed. He sat up so she could push the shirt off her shoulders; she did, but left it puddled around his wrists, and then pushed him back down, pinning the shirt beneath him and his arms at his sides.

"Do you like this, Greg?" she asked, throwing a leg over his hips.

He gasped, hands clutching at her knees. "Molly..."

"Greg." Molly leaned over him, cupping his face in her hands. "Please look at me. Please tell me if this is all right."

"Molly, _please_." Greg's hands flexed on her knees. "It's good. It's brilliant. Please don't stop."

"Of course not," she murmured, gently scraping her nails down over his belly. His skin jumped; his prick jumped, too, pressing against her thigh.

"Condom," she said decisively, climbing off him and fumbling into the drawer of her side table. "Stay there, Greg."

"Mmhmm."

When she came back, straddling his thighs, he was breathing fast and rock-hard under her fingers as she rolled the condom on. She smiled, and on impulse bent to kiss the head; he made a pained noise and leapt into her mouth. She sucked him, briefly, wetting the latex, but giving head had never appealed to her and she figured, if this was going to be about her, it should be about _her_. So she slid up his body and sank down on him, closing her eyes against the pleasure of him filling her.

" _Molly_ ," he groaned, and shifted restlessly under her.

"You liked it, before, when I told you to save it up for me, didn't you?" Molly asked, and hitched her hips.

"Hwa," Greg said, and then, "nng, yes, yes, I did."

"And did you?"

"What?"

"Did you save it for me?" Molly gave him a proper roll of her hips, grinding his head against her G-spot; she let the pleasure make her voice flutter. "Or did you find a moment, in the loo, or in your office maybe, hoping no one came in?"

"No," Greg panted. "No, I didn't--there wasn't time, and you'd said, and--ohhhhh, god."

She'd slid her fingers between them, gathering up her slick and smearing it over her clit. "That's good," she said, grinding down on her fingers. "Must have been difficult. You must've been gagging for it. God, look at you, the way you look, the way you _want_ me..."

"Want you," Greg echoed. "Want you so much, Molly."

"And the way you put it off for me," she added. "I told you to wait, and you did. I told you to eat, and you did."

"I liked to. I liked when you made me wait." Greg's hands flexed against her knees, seeking purchase. "God, I want to touch you."

Molly gave a little wriggle, shifting him inside her. "I think you are touching me."

" _Molly_ ," he begged. "I want to make you feel good. _Please_."

"God, you _are_ ," she groaned, pushing down against her fingers, against him. "You want to make me come?"

"Please!"

"Move your hips," she said. "Fuck me."

And he _did_. She dropped her head down and matched the strokes over her clit with his pushes into her. He couldn't move very deep, but it was deep enough, and she leaned back to increase the pressure on her G-spot.

He was hardly even a person anymore; he was pressure in the places she needed it, a rhythm to follow, a heady sense of power. She bit her lip and groaned with her orgasm, already chasing the next, lost in her own pleasure.

Through the ripples and contractions of serial orgasms, she could hear him approaching his own. "Molly," he gasped. "Molly, I'm, can I, can I please," and she cut him off with a sharp " _Yes_ , do it, come for me," and he

positively

_howled_.

She brought herself to another orgasm as he finished, and then, because she liked the little overstimulated noises he made as she clenched around him, one more afterward, watching the way his eyes rolled back with the unwanted pleasure.

"That was amazing," she breathed, catching breaths.

Greg blinked. "You're telling me." He looked dazed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're fantastic."

"You're exhausted." Molly lifted herself, gripping the base of the condom as Greg slid out of her. "Go to sleep. I'll come to bed in a minute. S'ok?"

"Mm. Yeah. Can I do anything for you? Need anything?"

Molly giggled. "Go to _sleep_. I'm going to throw out this condom and brush my teeth."

"Uh huh." Greg sleepily returned her kiss without seeming entirely aware of her. She grinned, then did exactly as she'd said, making a detour into the kitchen to grab a glass of water for the bedside table.

Toby cried at her from the top of his little carpet tower. She sighed, and then said, "Well, all right; if you're going to be a problem, best have it out early. Come on, then." She clicked her tongue at him, and he stretched and jumped down from the tower, twining around her ankles as she went back to the bedroom.

"If I kick you, I'm not apologizing," Molly told him as she shut the door all but a crack, leaving the room in darkness.

"Huh?" Greg mumbled.

"Nothing, Greg," Molly said, and wriggled under the blankets with him while Toby jumped up to take his customary place on the pillow next to her head. She slid her arm around Greg's waist, pressed her face against his back, and fell asleep smiling.

 

A scratching sound woke her, calling instantly to mind images of peed-in corners; she groaned, thinking of the cleanup, and then remembered that Toby hadn't peed in a corner in months and that the sound was too loud and hollow to be a floor; Toby was scratching at the door.

She glanced at her digital clock, and loudly said, "Oh, _fuck you_."

"Sorry," Greg said. "What'd I do?"

Molly jumped. "Oh, no, not you, sorry! Toby. He's managed to shut himself in and now he's upset about it." She froze, halfway through slipping out of bed. "Oh, I woke you, didn't I? I'm so sorry! Let me--just--I'm sorry!"

"S'fine," he said. "I sleep like a baby, s'no problem."

Molly climbed out of bed and gave a fake groan. "Does that mean I'm going to have to bounce you on my knee and read you stories for two hours before you'll sleep again?"

She let the cat out as Greg laughed, a lovely low rumbling. "Maybe just come back to bed?" he asked as she came back around the foot of the bed.

"Gladly," Molly said, already snuggling into his warm side, shivering away the chill of the wider room. She shoved one arm under him and squeezed him tight against her, pressing her face into his chest. " _God_ you're lovely. Fancy another go?"

His arms wrapped around her and squeezed closer. "God, I'd love to. Not exactly young anymore, though. Falling asleep already."

"I'll just slip a condom on your morning wood, then," she said playfully, and snuggled in, not missing the way his breath caught.

There was something to explore.

 

Only two hours later, the shrill tones of an unfamiliar alarm woke her. She jerked in surprise, blinking blearily awake. The room was still dark, and Greg was fighting with the sheets and swearing. As she watched, he fell off the bed with a blanket wrapped around his legs.

Molly giggled, but he was still swearing, fumbling in his trouser pocket to shut the alarm down. He groaned, rubbing his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Didn't mean to wake you. Fuck, I have to get in, I'm sorry. Mind if I help myself to coffee?"

"That's fine." Molly yawned, glancing at the clock. "I'm just gonna..." She wilted, snuggling back beneath the blankets.

He bent and kissed her forehead. "Of course. Sleep well. I'll call about lunch, if I get a break?"

"Mmhmm," she agreed happily, snuggling into his warm spot.

She couldn't easily get back to sleep, though. She watched him get dressed, then listened to him pattering about the kitchen, talking to Toby too softly for her to make out the words. The smell of coffee was what finally made her give up on sleeping in; she pulled a dressing gown on against the chill and wandered into the kitchen.

Greg was gulping the coffee down too hot, struggling to get his shirt on at the same time. She raised her eyebrows at him and took over the shirt. "In a hurry?"

"That alarm's set to get me to work on time from my flat," he explained. "You're twenty minutes farther from the station. D'you have anything portable to eat?"

"Just some granola bars. Tinned cat food, I suppose, if you wanted some protein."

Greg smiled. "Thanks, but the granola bars will be fine." He drained the last of his coffee while she fetched them down from the cupboard. "You're a love," he told her, with a kiss to her cheek. "I'll see you this afternoon, I hope. You working today?"

"No, of course not," she said. "Catch all the criminals today, love, and then come back and shag me into the floor, yeah?"

"I look forward to it," he promised, and disappeared out the door.

Molly locked the door behind him and returned to the kitchen for her coffee. The warmth made her sleepy, and she spent a lazy twenty minutes on the Internet, thinking idly about the novel she'd been wanting to write.

She tapped out a comment on John's new blog, which had appeared sometime the day before, and then got up to feed Toby and herself.

After she'd eaten, she phoned her father. "Hi Daddy."

"Morning, Molly-blossom," he said. "Not often you're up this early on a Sunday. Did you work a night shift?"

"No, I just woke up. I, um." She flushed, thinking maybe she oughtn't mention Greg just yet. "Toby woke me up, and I couldn't get back to sleep." Both technically true, just not related. "I thought I'd come to church with you this morning, since I'm awake."

"That would be lovely," her father said. "Meet you here at seven, and we'll go together?"

"Sure, Daddy." Her phone beeped. "Uh, I have another call, Daddy, I'll call you in a moment!"

"Sure thing, sunshine."

She clicked over. "Hello?"

"It's Greg," said Greg. "I just got to the office and realized it's Sunday. The case closed yesterday, so I actually get the day off. Sorry to wake you, but can I buy you breakfast?"

"I ate," she said apologetically. "And I just told my dad I'd go to church with him."

"Church?" 

Poor thing, he sound absolutely befuddled. "I go with him some Sundays, if I happen to be awake at the right time. You could come with us, if you wanted."

"Oh, well, I, uh..."

She could practically hear him blushing over the phone. "Listen, nothing would set you up better in Daddy's mind than going to church with him. But you don't need to at all. No one's going to be offended."

"No, I... I'd like to. If they don't mind a filthy heathen deconsecrating their space."

Molly giggled. "Filthy heathen? I thought you were a Roman Catholic."

"Well, raised. But not anymore."

Molly checked the clock. "Service starts at eight. Daddy and I'll be there by seven-forty; can you get there in time?" She told him the address.

"Uh, yeah, I think so. I'll see you there."

"See you."

She clicked back over to her father's line. "Daddy, do you mind if I bring someone?"

"What kind of someone?" her father asked suspiciously.

"A man someone," she admitted. "He's got the day off as a surprise; he's who was calling me a minute ago. I told him to meet us at the church, but I can call back and tell him it's family time if you prefer."

"Of course not," her father said. "I need to meet this man, make sure he's good enough for you."

"No murdering in church, Daddy," she said, smiling, and rang off.

She'd have to get dressed quickly if she wanted not to be late.

 

She _was_ late, though, terribly. Toby leapt on the first dress she put on, leaving torn lines not only in it but in her stockings and her thigh; by the time she'd finished yelling, bandaged herself up, and put on new clothes, she was already ten minutes late. Then Toby darted past her feet as she was going out the door, and she was another fifteen minutes wandering up and down the halls with an open tin, calling him and feeling like an idiot.

Her mobile rang just as she was throwing him (gently) back into the flat. She answered as she locked up and hurried toward the lift. "Hello?"

"Are you all right, Molly?" her father asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. Toby got out, and I had to find him and then I had to _catch_ him, and I was already late because he'd torn my dress. I'll still be there! Shall I meet you at the church instead?" It was between them, closer to Dad's house but enough of a difference that it would ensure they were there in time for the service.

"All right, Molly-blossom. But you don't have to come; you could spend some time with your young man instead."

Molly giggled. "He's forty-seven, Daddy. But no; I'd like to come with you." The lift reached the bottom floor. "I'll see you there."

 

The Tube ride was long and crowded and filthy, and Molly emerged, as she usually did, feeling a bit slimy all over. But it was a short walk to the church, and if she hurried she'd get there in time for the service.

Greg and her father were standing outside the church, passing a cigarette between them. She paused for a moment to admire the way Greg's mouth shaped as he took a drag, then stalked across the street and snatched it from her father's lips.

"Honestly, Daddy," she said. "Didn't the doctor tell you to quit?"

"Yeah, well." He scuffed his foot. "Your man here is a bad influence."

"Maybe so, but I don't get to tell Greg to quit." Molly sent a look at Greg. "All I can do is look at him disapprovingly."

Greg looked so abashed that she felt bad for shaming him. "Sorry, love," he said. "If nothing else, I can at least promise not to smoke with your dad, if it bothers you."

Molly leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I can't tell you what to do, love. Daddy, I can't really tell you what to do either. I just worry."

"I know you do, sunshine." His arm slid around her shoulder and squeezed briefly. "Let's go in, the service is about to start."

Molly offered her arm to Greg. "Sorry I was so late. Toby..."

"He's a holy terror," Greg said, utterly serious, taking her arm as she followed her father inside.

Molly tried not to look too disappointed. "He's my cat," she said, definitely not petulant.

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry, Molly, I was joking. Wanted to make you laugh. I'd never ask you to get rid of Toby." He rubbed his neck with his free hand. "Guess I need to work a bit on my deadpan delivery."

"Well." Molly squeezed his arm. "That's good. Because I'd take you to the pound before I took Toby." She gave it a moment before she grinned up at him, and he grinned back at her.

"I deserved that," he said.

"Hmm." Before she could talk herself out of it, she added, "Maybe later I'll show you what you deserve."

They'd fallen a bit behind, so she let go of his arm and jogged a few steps to catch up to her father. As she fell into step, she looked back and sent Greg a smirk and a wink, and promptly tripped over her feet as she tried to walk in one direction and look in another.

She hardly even blushed over her clumsiness, because in the moment before her fall, she'd seen the look on Greg's face.

 

The service was comforting, the way it always was. Molly sat between Greg and her father, and lost herself in the pastor's soothing voice. It was easy, almost mechanical to stand for the hymns and prayers, her mouth shaping the familiar words on its own. Greg's voice was low and lovely and surprisingly steady; he might have been familiar with their hymns, or perhaps he was an accomplished sight-reader.

Molly's mind and eyes wandered, noting the familiar faces, new ones, and those that were missing. She was surprised and impressed that Greg sat still on the pew even longer than she managed; despite the padding, the pews became uncomfortable quickly.

After the service, they walked back to her father's house for lunch. Molly paused in the sitting room to say hello to her mother's old cat, eighteen years old now and declining, but not quite decrepit.

"Hey, there, Tatty, sweet girl," she murmured, even though Tatty could no longer hear her. Tatty purred, arching her head into Molly's hand, eyes half-closing. Molly only meant to scritch her for a moment and then go help make lunch, but when she took her hand away, Tatty reached out to grab it, and Molly never could say no to a cat.

By the time she'd petted Tatty into a satisfactory sleep, the boys had already put together sandwiches and salads and laid the table. 'The boys', she thought, smiling to herself; it might be a bit premature to be considering Greg and her father a unit, but the thought appealed, for some theoretical future.

After lunch, Molly kissed her father and Tatty goodbye. Out on the stoop, Greg offered her a lift home in his car, still parked down the street from the church.

 

Molly danced in the doorway, still giggling; Greg followed, looking stunned and awed and pleased. She loved the way affection looked on him, so she slid up against his body and pulled him down for a kiss.

"Molly," he breathed into her mouth.

She grinned against his lips. "We should talk."

His hands spread over her back deliciously. "I don't much want to be talking."

She let herself melt against him. "Me neither." She leaned up and trailed her fingers up his neck. "I have ideas, though, and I don't want to do anything you're not going to enjoy."

Greg's eyes fluttered closed. "God, just listening to your ideas is like sex."

"Well, then." Molly buried her fingers in his hair. "Let's have sex."

She made tea, and they settled on opposite ends of the sofa, Greg half-sideways with one leg hitched up beside him, Molly entirely sideways, chin on her knees, leaning against the sofa's back.

"Okay," he said. "Talking."

Molly nodded, opened her mouth to speak, and then realized what it was she was about to say and blushed furiously instead. "This was a lot easier to say while we were actually having sex."

A corner of Greg's mouth twitched up. "Yeah."

"I guess, as the one with the ideas, I should start?"

"To be fair, I have some ideas of my own."

Molly smiled shyly. "Do you want to go first?"

"Not particularly." Greg shrugged. "You were right about most of the things you said, um, last night. It's... hard for me to talk about."

Molly felt a flush of warmth, instantly banked by a wave of concern. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Greg."

"I know." She shot him a disbelieving look, and he said, "I _do_. I just... I try not to be ashamed, and sometimes I am anyway. Sometimes it's hard to believe I'm not... weird."

"Greg..."

"It's fine, Molly. I don't tell you to make you feel sorry for me; just so that you know, for future reference. I'm not being deliberately uncommunicative. It's just hard to talk about at times."

"I understand." Molly shifted, tucking her feet under herself. "Okay, then I can talk? Is it easier to answer questions than to assert statements?"

"I think it would be, yes." Greg shrugged. "I've never actually tried to... negotiate anything with someone."

"Okay." Molly nodded. "Okay, um. Well. You did seem to really like it when I told you what to do."

"Yes. God, yes. That was..." Greg flushed and ducked his head. "I did really like that."

"What do you like about it?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to say. It... it takes some of the pressure off, I guess. If I'm doing what you told me, I know it's right. And I..."

"Greg?"

"I _really_ like your pleasure," he said, all in a rush. "I love it, it's my favorite thing. I love making you feel good, making you come, making you happy. That, that first time, on the sofa? That was. That was _amazing_."

"You didn't even come," Molly said, startled.

Greg shook his head. "Didn't matter. Made it better, kind of, in a way. I just... loved being part of that, loved making you feel good. I liked..."

Molly bit her lip. Clearly there was something more, something Greg wasn't saying, but she didn't know what question to ask and he didn't know how to say what he wanted. "It's okay," she said. "We'll come back to it, okay?"

He flashed a grateful smile and nodded. "Okay."

"Is it the same when you ask me for permission?"

He flushed. "You noticed, huh?"

"You asked me twice if you could lick me, and you asked me if you could come. I don't think you did anything without asking permission first." Molly smiled. "I liked it."

Greg's face was bright red, and he refused to meet her eyes. "I'm glad you did."

"About coming," Molly began tentatively. She didn't miss the way Greg's shoulders tightened, the way his eyes seemed even more stubbornly glued to his tea. "Um, should I back off?"

Greg shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. I know it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It just feels..." He shook his head again, aggressively, like he were trying to shake his shame out through his ears. "It's stupid, but I grew up with these certain ideas about--about how women should be treated, about the way a man was supposed to be, and I just, I have a hard time letting go of all that. I _know_ it's sexist and stupid, and I'm trying to, to deprogram, it's just..."

"It's hard," Molly said. "Of course it's hard. I know that." She gave a dismissive, angry little snort, thinking of all the deprogramming she'd had to do, all the deprogramming she had yet to do. "Sorry, sorry, that's not at you." In spite of the rules they'd set up for this negotiation, she slid her bare foot across the center cushion and covered his toes with hers. "Shall I make some guesses, and you can tell me if I'm right?"

He nodded, and his shoulders relaxed fractionally.

"Okay. Part of it I already know; you already told me you liked when I told you to hold off for me."

Greg nodded.

"I think you like validation?" Molly said. "You liked it when I told you you were fantastic. I think you were looking for me to tell you so. That makes sense, too, together with your obedience kink and your kink for my pleasure. You want to make me feel good, and you want to _know_ that you've succeeded."

Greg nodded.

"But you also--I think you like it when you don't have a say." She studied his downturned face, looking for reactions as she spoke. "You liked the idea of my 'slipping a condom on your morning wood'--you like the idea of my using your body, the idea that any pleasure you experience is secondary to my pleasure."

He nodded, and said, "Also."

Molly waited.

"Also, I. I want you to, um. To choose what I feel. I want it all to be, your control, your idea, whatever you want. To, um. To let me come, or not." He turned his mug around in his hands. "I like the idea that, that it pleases you to... to sort of toy with me? To make me want, to say no to me, to, um." He flushed, impossibly, even redder. "To enact your whims upon me."

Molly nodded. "That's. Um. I like that."

Greg looked up, a half-smile on his lips. "You do?"

"I do. Um, rather a lot." Molly shifted, pressing her heel hard against her cunt, her eyes fixed on Greg's; the pressure made her gasp, and she could see his pupils dilate.

She smiled, and said, "Stay there. Do as I tell you."

His mouth went soft; he nodded. She unfolded herself and hurried into the bedroom to find her favorite lube, shed her stockings and knickers, then came back and knelt on the end of the sofa, her feet tucked between the cushion and the arm, her knees set as far apart as the width of the sofa would allow.

"I want you to undress," she told him, squeezing a pea-sized dollop of the thick gel onto her fingers. She lifted her skirt only far enough to get it out of the way; it fell in drapes around her hand as she stroked her fingertips over her clit, obscuring (she thought) Greg's view of her cunt.

His hands flew to his shirt buttons, and he had two open before she could speak. "Slow down," she said. "You've got all that lovely skin, just begging to be touched."

"So come over here and touch it," he said, but he opened his third button more slowly.

"Good," she said, and pressed against herself harder for just a moment as his pupils dilated and he fumbled the fourth button. "I like this," she told him, maintaining eye contact; he didn't seem able to look away. "I like watching you do what I tell you to do. It makes me feel powerful."

He let out a soft whine, his eyelids fluttering. He spread his shirt open, then stroked his hands over his own chest, finding his own ticklish spots. He didn't make a noise, but Molly could see the way the muscles in his abdomen jumped when he found one.

"You don't like to talk during sex," she said softly. He shook his head. "Maybe I should gag you," she went on. "Would you like that? With my knickers, maybe. Fill your mouth with the taste of me."

His breath huffed hard through his nose, and his hands dropped to his trousers. He nodded, shook his head; shut his eyes.

Molly smiled. "A qualified yes, then. We'll come back to that. Go ahead and unbutton your trousers, but don't take them off yet."

His pants showed through his open fly, a dark grey with a darker patch where the head of his prick strained against the fabric. "Touch your nipples," Molly said. "Lightly."

He did, but reluctantly, and she saw why; even that light touch, his own fingers, had him gasping, biting his lip to muffle his noises. "Lick your thumb," she said, "and stop holding back. I want to hear your noise."

God, he made beautiful noises. She slid her fingers back, gathering up her natural slick; if she wasn't careful, she'd end up staining the sofa.

Greg had one hand fisted in his waistband, the other drifting back and forth from one nipple to the other, tight and hard under his fingers--for _her_. His whole body was drawn taut, his position a mirror of hers, his expression a dazed and desperate awe.

"You're gorgeous," she told him. "I want you to hitch your pants down as far as you can without forcing your knees together, if that's far enough for you to take your cock out."

"Nn-hnn," Greg said, and stood on his knees to shove his trousers down around his hips. His cock bobbed against his stomach, but he didn't touch it; he left his hands on his trousers and looked at her and waited.

"God, you're so good," she murmured. "I teased you about punishment earlier, didn't I, but you wouldn't even need it. Look at you, you just do what I tell you." She shuddered, letting her eyes close for a moment, lifting her fingers away from herself. She didn't want to get distracted yet, and a chain of orgasms would definitely distract her. She wanted to focus on sharing this with Greg.

"Molly," he breathed.

She opened her eyes and met his, then grinned. His hands were fisted so tightly on his waistband that his knuckles were white. The head of his cock was shiny and wet, and his eyes were fixed on her face.

"I want to touch you," he breathed.

"Position's occupied," she told him, sliding her fingertips inside herself. "Touch yourself. Long, slow strokes." She smiled at him, showing all her teeth. "Don't come."

He gripped himself firmly, gave himself one long pull, while his other hand dipped below to cup and squeeze his balls, rucked up as they were by the band of elastic below them. She studied his technique as she stroked her labia, watching where in his stroke he squeezed tighter, watching the way his foreskin closed over and then pulled back from his slick head. She watched the way his left hand tugged at his balls: the placement of his fingers, the pressure, the resistance of his scrotum.

She let her gaze slide up, past his well-muscled arms and furred chest to his face. His eyes were shut tight, mouth open, panting. Her fingertips slipped between her labia and up over her clit; she felt her whole cunt tighten with the pleasure.

" _Molly_."

Molly blinked her eyes open, not realizing she'd closed them. "Greg?"

He still wasn't looking at her, his face screwed up in concentration. "I can't, I need to, I"

"Stop."

He groaned and pressed both hands into the center cushion, his whole body bowing forward. "God," he gasped. "God, Molly. Please, can I make you come, can I _please_?"

She smiled down at the back of his head, stroking the fingers of her free hand through his hair. "You're lovely," she told him, indulging herself in the textures of the strands. "I don't want to come just now, though. Isn't there anything else you want?"

His shoulders sagged a bit. "I want to please you,"

"Oh, Greg." She nudged him back to upright, taking his face between both hands. "You do please me. I am unquantifiably pleased with you." She kissed him, encouraging his arms around her waist, encouraging his tongue in her mouth.

"Mm," he sighed into the kiss, and then he drew away to say, "You like me in clothes."

"Hmm?"

"Three times now we've had sex, and I haven't been naked for any of them. You've only been naked for one."

"What can I say? You dress well." Molly pushed Greg's shirt off his shoulders. "Maybe I also have a thing for sofa sex. Would you like to get naked and move to the bedroom?" She leaned in close, mouthing at his neck and wrapping her arm around his chest, making sure her sleeve touched his skin. "All my skin and all your skin, and all my slick on your thighs or belly or face, and I'll let you put your hands wherever you want to."

 

"You're amazing," Greg said, panting.

"So are you," Molly answered, smiling.

"I never thought..."

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "Hmm?"

He shrugged. "Well. All... this. You just never seemed... the type."

Molly giggled. "I never thought I would be the type. It's good, though. I love the--"

She cut herself off. Yes, she'd always fallen hard and quickly, but they'd only been together a few weeks. His divorce was less than six months old. Surely it was far too soon the be tossing around the L-word, even if she wasn't linking it directly to him.

"Molly?"

She smiled and kissed him. "I really like the way you look at me," she explained.

He nuzzled his face into her shoulder. "Is there anything you'd like to be called, while we're...?"

"Called?"

"You know." His face wasn't where she could see it, and he spoke mockingly, as though the idea he were presenting were absurd. "'Yes, Mistress', or Ma'am, or, well, whatever."

Molly found herself making a face, and was glad that Greg had hidden his; it meant he couldn't see hers. She carefully straightened her features before she spoke. "Is there something you'd like to call me?" She paused, and added, "Or that you'd like me to call you?"

Greg nuzzled his face deeper into the soft flesh of her shoulder. "I thought maybe. Well, for me to call you, I don't know about--well. 'My lady,' maybe."

"Oh." Molly blushed. She'd never felt much like a lady; she was too stammering-awkward-shy, not pretty enough, not elegant enough. She wondered if there was anything she'd prefer, but she couldn't imagine Greg--ten years her senior--calling her _Ma'am_.

"You hate it," Greg mumbled into her skin.

Not really thinking about it, Molly put her fingers against his mouth. "Hush. I'm thinking about it."

He hushed, kissing her fingertips softly. She turned her head to press her lips to his forehead and thought about _this_ : about issuing commands and being obeyed, about small gestures of--servitude? Was that the word? Or... she thought of a castle, a lady of the court, a knight kneeling before her swearing fealty.

In Molly's imagination, the touch of the lady's sword to the knight's shoulders felt the same as the touch of her own fingertips against Greg's mouth, and his kiss to her fingers felt the same as the knight's promise to his lady.

She giggled suddenly, and knocked her teeth against his forehead.

"Ow," he complained. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you all right?" She sat halfway up, far enough to look at him, swiping her thumb over the wounded spot. There was a dent in the skin, but it would smooth out by morning. "It was nothing, it was just--when little girls think of their knight in shining armor, they don't really imagine something like this."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"I like it, of course." She settled back down, guiding him to rest his head once more on her shoulder. "Nothing can be like how we imagined it when we were seven." She nodded. "I like 'my lady'. Did you have anything in mind for yourself?"

She could feel the face he pulled against her shoulder. "Still thinking about it. There's a lot of infantilizing around submission; I don't much fancy having you call me 'boy'."

She made a face in return. "I can't imagine it." Something occurred to her, and she asked, "A minute ago, when I shushed you--was that okay? Was that... weird? I don't want to boss you around when you don't want it."

Greg shrugged. "I'm not sure how I feel about bossing outside sex, but that was okay; even though we weren't actively fucking, it's still definitely a sexual context." He nuzzled his face into her skin. "It was sort of... calming."

"Okay. I'm glad." She stretched beneath him; he lifted his head to give her space, then snuggled back in when she was done. "What time is it? Do you want to get dinner, or is it too soon?"

He checked his watch. "Not too soon to start thinking about it, at least. What're you in the mood for?"

"I feel lazy. Want to order in?"


	2. Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Greg's been good for you, huh?"

"I like you like this," Molly said, grinning.

"Can't, ah. Think why," Greg managed.

Molly grinned and slicked her fingers from her cunt over her clit. "Enjoying yourself?"

" _Hnng_ ," Greg answered, his eyes falling half-shut. After a gasping moment, he said, "I'd enjoy you more."

"What was that?" Molly slid her hand back, cupping her vulva in her fingers.

"I'd enjoy you more, _my lady_ ," Greg repeated.

"Well, all right then." Molly pressed her slick fingers to his mouth. He groaned and lapped at her, and she awkwardly shuffled forward and lowered her cunt against his face.

She couldn't exactly blame him for being less focused than usual, she supposed. She'd tied his wrists to his thighs, then filled him with a slim plug angled to press firmly against his prostate. Every time he moved, it shifted inside him, and every time it shifted, it sent a fresh wave of pleasure through him.

He was doing quite well, really. Molly groaned and canted her hips so his tongue slid back over her labia; he responded enthusiastically, licking up into her with firm, broad strokes. 

"I want to keep you like this." Molly shifted her hips, rubbing her cunt over his lips. "I want to use you, I want to take all the pleasure I can from you and leave you like this, tied and teased and wanting. How long could I keep you like this?"

Greg moaned into her, but didn't let up his attentions; she hummed an approval and leaned back to give his cock a few light strokes. He was leaking onto his belly; she gathered as much of the fluid onto her fingers as she could and brought it to her mouth. Semen was never thrilling even at its most palatable, but she loved the slick salt taste of pre-come.

With the fingers of one hand in her mouth and the other knotted into his hair, she rode his face, eyes shut to best soak in the pleasure. He'd grown much better at this than he used to be; he knew just how much pressure and where to put it, and he knew not to press harder as her noises get louder. He knew to pull back a little as she comes, knew how to build a rhythm with her orgasms, pushing them higher and shortening the time between them until she was insensate with pleasure above him.

And, best of all, he knew how to let her down slow, knew how many orgasms is too many. He let them flow out of her, going soft and blunt, and as the last one passed he just lapped softly at her labia, giving her just enough stimulation to ground her.

When she recovered, she crawled shakily off him and snuggled against his side, breathing hard. "Good," she mumbled into his neck, her nose pressing behind his ears; he shuddered.

"Okay, Molly?"

"Mm." Molly lifted her head and fixed him with a stern look, quite ruined by the smile she couldn't keep off her face. "Sorry, who?"

He smiled back and said, "Okay, my lady?"

"Fantastic." She kissed his forehead. "You're really good at that."

"Helps to love what you do."

She dozed a bit, hand trailing over his skin, not roused by his little gasps and twitches of pleasure. She wondered, half-dreaming, what it would take to make Greg beg for his own pleasure, and if he would enjoy that; even at his most wild and desperate he had only ever begged to be allowed to please her.

Her fingers brushed the ropes at his thighs, and she blinked herself back to full awareness, feeling for his hands. They were a little cold, but--she sat up to look--not swollen or discolored. "How are you?"

"All right, my lady." He grinned at her, deliberately twitching his cock. "Getting a bit stiff, but not uncomfortable."

"Well." She bent to lick his frenulum; he made a strangled gasping noise and his cock twitched so strongly the head slipped into her mouth. He tasted slick and salty and clean, and she licked him until all she could taste was thin skin and the blood beneath, while he shuddered and moaned. "So long as you're not uncomfortable," she said as she pulled off, "I don't see any need to change the current state of affairs."

He made a soft noise, quickly cut off; she frowned at him. "Greg, you know you're allowed to ask for what you want."

"Yes. But..."

"Hmm?"

"I don't know what I want," he whispered, eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of on her. "I want it--both ways."

Molly pressed her hand between his legs; he parted them as much as the ropes allowed, and she gripped the base of the plug and rocked it inside him. "You want me to make you come?"

"Ahh--yes! Yes, my lady, I do, but--"

"But you also want to wait," she said. "You want to be _made_ to wait. How long?"

He shook his head. "Until... until I can't anymore. Until I hate it, and then a little bit longer."

She mouthed her way up his body; he jerked hard as her lips brushed his nipple. "Shall I send you to work like this?" she murmured in his ear, letting her lips just brush the skin. "Shall I leave you with rope marks on your wrists and a plug in your arse, let you wander around like that? You'd have to be careful not to let anyone know about it. Couldn't roll up your sleeves."

"Oh, god..."

"You'd have to sit so carefully. Straight. And every time you moved, it would shift inside you." She pressed on it to demonstrate; he moaned. "How long do you think you could go without being found out? Do you think you could hide it from Sherlock for even a moment?"

He shook his head, but he was panting so hard he couldn't speak, rocking back onto the plug in her hand. Molly laughed with the power of it, with having him squirming and straining and completely under her control. She pulled her hands away because she could, and his moans broke into a little trailing-off cry of loss.

"M--my lady," he pleaded, panting.

She found the knots and let loose the rope; he shifted around to let her pull it off him but didn't make any move toward his own pleasure.

"Good," she told him, stroking his knee. "Here's what's going to happen now: I'm going to make you come. Tomorrow we'll talk more about denial and wearing toys in public. For now, you're going to stay absolutely silent. Agreed?"

"Ahh... Yes, my lady."

Molly smiled. "I'll forgive you that one. Now hush."

She stroked him lightly. He spread his legs and squirmed, and his mouth opened and worked around nothing, and other than his harsh breaths he made no sound at all. 

She started to put effort into making him make noise, teasing the sensitive head before giving him a few firm, long strokes. He threw his head back and moaned, and she let go, his cock thumping back against his belly.

"Molly..."

"I hear an awful lot of noise," Molly mused. "Surely none of it is coming from the gorgeous man in my bed, though. He knows better."

Greg blew his breath out, but went still and quiet and waited. Molly rewarded him with more touch, starting light and constantly changing to try to startle him into noise. She petted over his balls, pressed up against his perineum, and decided that the sharp gasp he gave warranted her pulling her hands away again.

"Why noises?" he asked, panting.

"Because it's completely arbitrary." Molly smiled. "Because I like to see you struggle to control yourself. Because I _can_. Now, darling, hush."

She lost track of time, bringing him close to orgasm and watching his control shatter, over and over. He still didn't beg; didn't say anything, just lay there and panted and trembled and waited for her to touch him again. 

"So good," she murmured, wrapping a hand around him. "You're trying so hard, darling. Let it go now; make as much noise as you like."

He _wailed_ , a single long sound that slowly climbed in pitch and then, as he ran out of air, dipped in volume until it was the barest whimper. "Breathe," she told him, and he obeyed, each sudden inhale a gasp and each exhale a sob. "Slower," she said, and slowed her strokes to match.

"My," he sobbed, "my, lady, I, I'm--"

"Yes," she said, leaning in to watch his face. "Come. I want to see you. I want to hear you. Watch me, darling, look at me--"

He opened his eyes and met her gaze; his breath stopped with a soft choked-off sound and his whole body went rigid, cock pulsing in her hand. She stroked him through it, intent on his expression, not even realizing how _hungry_ it made her until he went limp and pushed weakly at her hand, and she came back into her own body.

"Make me come," she demanded, breathless, bringing his hand to her cunt. Because if this is how she was going to be with him, she might as well _be_ it, might as well take what she wanted. He slid two fingers inside her and pressed up against her clit with his palm, and she gripped his wrist and rode his hand into one--two--three quick, shaking orgasms.

"My lady," he breathed as the last one faded, his eyes still on hers.

"Darling," she answered, and flopped over beside him, pressing herself against him and kissing him hard.

"I like that," he said, soft, as she released him.

"I thought you did." She trailed her fingers through the pooled semen on his chest, smearing it around until it absorbed into his skin, until it no longer gummed up his hair. "Shower?"

"Hmm. No. Just... be here with me."

"I'm here," she whispered, and pressed her nose into his hair. "I'm here, darling."

 

"You're a lot more confident these days," John said, hanging back while Sherlock and Greg bickered over one of Molly's corpses.

Molly smiled. She'd already been moving that direction when this whole... thing... started, but routinely having a powerful man on his knees for her skyrocketed her confidence. Best of all, she knew that even if things with Greg were to turn sour, she'd be able to hold on to that; nothing would ever be able to take away the aura of command she was learning to project.

All she said was, "Am I?"

"You really are. Even Sherlock's noticed. Greg's been good for you, huh?"

Molly couldn't help it; she broke into giggles. Greg glanced up at her and smiled; she could just see the edge of a mark she had sucked onto his neck that morning, braced above him while he fucked into her deep and slow, holding off his own orgasm in pursuit of hers. "Yes," she agreed, trying and failing to be solemn. "He's been very good for me."

"For God's sake, Molly," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "Must you advertise the details of your relationship? Nauseating enough that you're in one at all."

Molly felt herself turning bright red, but she wasn't without a retort. "Or you could be a little kinder to me, and I'll pretend I didn't notice the bruise on your neck under all that concealer."

Sherlock clapped a hand to his neck, expression going from disdainful to horrified in a moment. "Mary said it wouldn't show!"

John cracked up first and Greg joined in, so Molly felt safe letting herself laugh too. Even Sherlock joined in a moment later, the smile spreading slow across his face and then breaking open into laughter. She wasn't going to question why _Mary_ was the one telling Sherlock whether or not his hickeys showed; it was enough that Sherlock had hickeys at all.

"All right," Sherlock said, wiping his eyes. "I think we're done here. Thank you for your time, Molly; come along, John."

He swept out without a backward glance; John paused and flashed a smile before hurrying after him. Greg took a step toward the door, then stopped to give Molly a sound kiss.

"Be safe, darling," she murmured as they broke apart.

"That's not an order I can follow, and you know it, my lady." He brushed his nose over her forehead. "I'll try."


End file.
